


The Courage of Stars

by shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Luck, Bantering, Big Brother Dean, Chick-Flick Moments, Comfort, Conversations in the Impala (Supernatural), Episode: s15e10 The Heroes' Journey, Episode: s15e11 The Gamblers, Family, Gen, Gencest Big Bang 2020 (Supernatural), Nightmares, Road Trips, Stargazing, classic spn, meteor showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25361512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod/pseuds/shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod
Summary: It’s a fifty hour straight drive from Kansas to Alaska. Factor in some stops, sleep, and oh yeah, bad luck courtesy of Chuck himself, and Dean knows they’re looking at probably a week-long drive at least. But it’s not all bad. Long open highways, diner stops, peace and quiet, and a meteor shower Sam mentioned off the cuff sound nice. But then again, a week in the car with a brother fond of chick-flick moments? Dean knows he’s in for a few conversations along the way too.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 26
Kudos: 73





	The Courage of Stars

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so excited to be able to share this with you guys! Usually I post stuff pretty quickly after I write it, but this has been going since March, so getting it up is amazing. Also, this is my first foray into the world of bangs, with this being for the gencest bang over on tumblr (shoutout to the fantastic mods!). Basically it focuses on the intense platonic relationship between the brothers, which I adore both writing and reading.
> 
> Something extra cool is that I got to work with the lovely [Quickreaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quickreaver/pseuds/quickreaver) on this! She created some truly stunning art that I absolutely adore! You can go check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25360564)! Please go show her and the art some love!
> 
> Note for this story: It's set between 15x10 and 15x11, with the brothers going from the bunker to Alaska. If their bad luck from 15x10 had persisted, they never would've made it in one piece. So for this story, they still have bad luck, but not to the crazy level they did in the episode. It's present in more than normal levels, but not over the top.
> 
> Sorry about the long A/N! I really, really hope you guys enjoy this one, so much love and research went into it, and I loved participating and working with a partner! Story title is from Sleeping at Last's 'Saturn', which is a beautiful song.

No matter how they slice it, they’re looking at a fifty hour drive to southern Alaska, and that’s a minimum. With the Impala’s problems tied to their luck going terrible, the brothers know it’ll be longer. How much longer, they have no idea. Hopefully not much more than a week, but the _hopefully_ is in there for a reason. Still, it’s a silent and unanimous decision that they drive back to Lebanon from Garth’s home in Wisconsin to restock on pretty much everything before heading way up north. (With their luck Dean’s certainly not flying, so Baby it is.)

What should be an eleven hour drive back to the bunker takes almost sixteen, and by the end both brothers are flat out exhausted. It’s some time early in the morning, not that Dean’s bothered to check, it’s that early, when they finally pull into the garage.

“Dude we are so screwed,” Dean mutters, about two seconds away from hitting his head against the steering wheel in frustration. In messing with them, Chuck had also messed with Baby, which was one: completely unforgivable and B: completely undeserved on her part.

Sam rubs at his eyes in the passenger seat. “What happened to giving pep talks?”

Dean gives a half shrug. “Lost that shred of optimism three hundred miles back when we had to pull over for the second freaking time because something was wrong. _Seriously,_ man, who the hell messes with a guy’s wheels? She deserves better,” he adds.

If Sam weren’t so tired, Dean knows he would be smiling. “Damn right she does,” he agrees simply. “It’s probably best if we get a few hours, pack up stuff, and head out in the afternoon? See if we can get in touch with Cas before then.”

“I tried a few hours back when you were taking a snooze, went straight to voicemail.” Their bad luck had better not include their angel too. That would be taking it two steps too far.

Sam casts him a look. “You guys seem on better terms after…everything. I’m sure he’s just busy, he’ll get back to you. We can leave a note if he’s not in a service area,” Sam pitches, and Dean can’t find it in his heart to list all the things that could very possibly be going wrong.

Dean eventually rubs a hand over his eyes and gets out of the car. He doesn’t even bother getting his duffel out of the trunk; they’ll just need it again in a few hours. “You better get some actual sleep,” he points an accusing finger at Sam, and his brother has the audacity to have the _who me?_ look painted all over his face. “No researching, no early packing, I’m talking catch some z’s. Pack in the morning, research on the way there, easy peasy.”

Sam just rolls his eyes and finally there’s a hint of the smile Dean’s been trying to get out of him. “Only if you do too.” He watches his older brother carefully as they clamber down the steps and turn off the garage’s lights.

“Dude, the memory foam has been calling to me for the past fifty miles, I’ll be out like a light, no problem.”

Sam actually half scoffs, half laughs at that. “Yeah, sure. See you in a few then,” he stops outside his door, looking just about ready to collapse into bed as is.

“Night, Sammy,” Dean claps him lightly on the shoulder, waits to hear the sentiment returned, and follows the hallway down to his room.

Once there, it takes a lot of effort to pull off his boots and jacket instead of immediately collapsing onto the bed. But he somehow manages it, and a mere five minutes later he’s got the lights off and is moderately comfortable.

At least he is until the gears start turning in his head.

All this for what? Their whole lives just as pawns in Chuck’s heads? To kill each other in the end? Is that what’s waiting for them at the end of this trip? They’ll make it to Alaska only for their bad luck to make Dean careen them into a tree?

No, it can’t be that simple, that cut and dry. There’s more to it, there had to be. No way in hell one guy, no matter how powerful, could plan out every single freaking decision Dean and Sam would ever make. No way. Dean’s own refusal to shoot Jack just a few weeks ago proved that much.

Dean screws his eyes shut tighter in an effort to force the thoughts back down into his subconscious where they belong. It takes a little while, but soon there’s enough silence in his head that it lulls him to sleep.

* * *

As far as Dean can tell, Sam kept his end of the deal and also managed a few hours of rest. It’ll do them both good in the end and they know it. When late morning rolls around, they divvy up the packing. Sam’s in charge of everything official. Physical money (some of which they always had stored away for a rainy day which was right freaking now), papers to get them across the border (forged, obviously, but they had worked well enough to get them into Canada before for Asa’s funeral, so they were hoping the luck would hold), books, laptops, and the like.

Dean spends most of the time in the garage packing as many spare parts into the Impala’s back seat and trunk as he can. They’re sure to have more breakdowns, but he’s saved up enough parts over the past few years to be reasonably well covered should anything else happen.

Chuck can take away a lot of things from them, but this, fixing up the Impala, it’s in his bones, his muscles, his cells. That can’t be taken away. And that one little thing that Dean knows with certainty is a fact makes him smile.

Once he’s finished with that he heads to help Sam get some food ready in the kitchen. Money is to be split between motels, food, and gas. Since they have to ration it, it makes sense to pack some food so they can cut down on diner and gas mart stops. Dean makes sandwiches to store in the cooler while Sam pulls together some granola bars and whatever else works decently as half a meal.

Official stuff, food, clothes, and a few jackets all gets packed away. Dean tries calling Cas a few more times, leaves more voicemails, and sends more texts before Sam writes a note and leaves it on the library table.

They both go through a mental and verbal checklist to make sure they really have everything before they actually head out.

“So it’s a left up onto I-80-“

“Follow it to 25 then the 90 pretty much all the way to Canada, bing bang boom, I got it, Sammy,” Dean casts his little brother a look. Sam actually looks amused and it becomes very apparent that the ‘helpful’ directions were just poking fun at Dean.

That’s another thing Chuck can’t take away. The roads that crisscross the United States may as well be tattooed on Dean’s chest or across the backs of his hands. He knows the ins and outs of every back road and can get them to almost every major city without a detailed map. Sam, of course, knows this, having spent the majority of his life as Dean’s copilot.

“Start giving me useful stuff when we get up into Canada. Do they even have highways up there?”

The amused look turns into just a little bitchface before Sam smiles back and shakes his head. Classic. “I hear they ride moose everywhere, like horses.” He says it with such a straight tone of voice that Dean starts laughing. That, and the image that comes to mind, what with Crowley’s nickname and all.

“So we should hide you from the Canadian public then, hm?” Dean casts a glance over and winks, which earns him an eye roll in return.

It’s only another few minutes before they leave Lebanon and Dean points the car down I-80, as Sam had so helpfully supplied, and they’re off.

* * *

Dean almost, _almost,_ believes that maybe they’ll actually get the trip done in a decent amount of time after a little over two hours in the car. But of course the second he thinks that, something under Baby’s hood starts vibrating, causing slight tremors to come through the wheel and into Dean’s hands. Sam feels it too almost immediately and looks to his older brother. Dean only sighs and pulls the Impala over to the side of the road.

Once the engine’s off all it takes is a quick look under the hood to see that it’s the spark plugs again. “Either Garth’s weren’t quite right or Chuck really has it out for these things,” Dean mutters and gestures to them when Sam comes around the side of the car.

“Plugs?” Sam asks, to which Dean nods. He leans under the hood to get a closer look and make sure nothing else looks awry, at least for a moment. He packed the extra parts for a reason, but had really hoped they wouldn’t need them.

Surprisingly Sam comes back a few moments later with a socket, ratchet, and set of plugs Dean had put with the rest of the parts in the back. The surprise must be evident on his face because Sam almost immediately screws his up. “Dude, quit looking at me weird.”

“Weird how?” Dean doesn’t change a single thing on his face as he looks between Sam and the materials in his hands.

“Like…that,” Sam gestures with the socket before he passes it over to Dean. “All incredulous.”

Dean just hums, amused, under his breath, and takes the offered tool. While he works on getting the bad plugs out, Sam keeps talking.

“I know how to do some of this stuff, you know that, right?”

“Psh, yeah, but nothing in comparison, no offense.”

“None taken, you’re not wrong. But I know what a socket wrench is, Dean.” There’s almost some actual annoyance there and that worries Dean. He’s just poking fun, and Sam knows it, so he checks when he sticks his head out that they’re still all good. Sam’s smirking, mock annoyed, and shaking his head at Dean. Yep, all good.

So that gives him permission to continue and he smirks back. “Well kudos to you then, man. Glad you’re actually researching something useful.”

“Learned it firsthand.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, practically etched into my brain after that roadside auto shop when you made me fix the carburetor.”

Dean pauses from checking the wires and getting the new plugs in place. The mock annoyance has passed, replaced with something heavier. It takes Dean a moment to place the memory. It feels like a lifetime ago. For both of them and what they’ve been through, it really has been. For Sam it’s probably been three.

Him, sitting on the cooler watching as Sam fixed up the car. He was paying attention, but in his head Dean was also counting up how many days he had left to teach Sam everything he needed to know before his deal came due.

Oh. That would account for the sudden shift in tone.

“I was just as surprised then as I am now that you knew what you were doing,” Dean attempts to give it some levity in his (what should be) patented best big brother comforting yet mildly poking fun at voice. Because it was a number of lifetimes ago. Coming from him, a professional at overthinking crap that happened in the past, there’s no use for dwelling on it in the middle of Nebraska en route to Alaska. They’re here and now, down on their luck but otherwise relatively alright. They can work with that.

Something in his voice works. All those lifetimes and he’s still got it. “I had a pretty good teacher,” Sam says and passes over one of the new plugs when Dean reaches his hand out wordlessly for one.

“You had the damn _best_ teacher,” Dean retorts, and a small chuckle is his reward. There’s no fire back from Sam because he knows it’s true. The Impala is an extension of Dean, in a way like the roads are of the maps his veins make in his body. He knows every square centimeter of her metal body and Sam knows it too.

That’s something in his bones that Chuck can’t take away. He can erase luck, give them parking tickets, take away their credit cards, but muscle memory is a little harder to evaporate from existence.

Sam watches as Dean replaces one plug and passes over the other when his hand reaches out for it. Ever the student, he keeps his eyes firmly on whatever Dean’s hands are doing. When Dean changes his stance ever so slightly so Sam can see him work better, neither of them say a thing about it.

They’re off again in twenty minutes and Dean is near beaming with happiness that his girl is back in prime condition. It may be temporary, but he’ll take what he can get.

Another fifty miles pass under the wheels before he turns down the Led Zeppelin and looks from the empty road to Sam. He’s been flicking through articles, based on how his finger and eyes move up and down the screen, for the better part of twenty minutes. If something’s holding his steady attention that long, it must be something worth looking into.

“Find something?” Dean asks and returns his eyes to the road.

Sam looks up, eyes on the same stretch of sparsely populated highway, and shakes his head. “Just reading up on some things.”

Things, very vague, nice going Sam, definitely won’t prompt any more questioning. Not. “PG things I hope, we’ve got a lot of miles to go…”

“Dude,” Sam starts, exasperated.

“Hey, hey, you know how I feel about all that, just man, not in the car-“

“It’s nothing you would be that interested in is all,” Sam cuts him off, putting an abrupt end to the sideline Dean always enjoys throwing him down.

Dean shrugs. “We hear some version of that from every person we save. Not interested, not believe, all that. Come on, lay it on me.” He waves Sam forward with the hand that isn’t calmly holding the wheel along the straightaway.

Sam sighs but eventually decides that one course of action is better than the other and Dean congratulates himself on the victory. “I saw something online the other day and since we have some free time, decided to look it up.”

“And it is…” Dean turns his hand over again.

“Meteor showers. Lots of them hit end of the year, and one of the biggest in North America, the Perseids, peaks,” he scrolls on his phone, “in a few days.”

Dean nods along. “Biggest as in how many can you see?” He’s not extremely interested per se but his interest has been piqued. Besides, they used to stargaze whenever they had a free night. But they haven’t in years, not with the world always trying to end itself and some amount of demons or angels hunting them down.

“In low light, high elevation, open sky areas, some articles say around seventy five per hour.” He’s clearly happy that Dean is showing some type of interest, and scrolls to something else.

Dean lets out a lot whistle. “That’s a lot of wishes.”

Sam chuckles on the bench seat next to him. “Yeah, no kidding. Some of these pictures of it are crazy.”

Dean doesn’t even have to look over to know that Sam’s got a completely interested, slightly awestruck look stuck on his face. Kid is still such a nerd well into his adult years. But hey, he’s smiling and researching something other than the impending end of the world, so Dean will take the nerdiness.

“What comet causes them?” He’s not an astronomer by any means, but he also still knows a thing or two.

Sam doesn’t doubt him on it because he knows it as well. He types in a few more things and starts off on giving Dean all the background information out there. He won’t say it’s better than the Zeppelin sitting quiet in the tape deck, but it’s a different type of good and entertaining.

He interjects when it’s appropriate, makes remarks, asks questions, and Sam is more than happy to oblige.

They surprisingly make it another few hours before something goes wrong. There’s another quick fix and they’re back on the road. This time the music is on and Sam looks out the window, content watching the scenery pass by.

They stop by a diner in the evening, having eaten some of the sandwiches Dean made for lunch earlier. The place is sadly out of pie given the time of day, and Dean won’t let Sam forget it. Afterwards they elect to go for a motel and sleep in the car the following night. They are on a budget, after all, especially now that they can see how many physical bills they have left.

Dean pulls into a motel at the edge of town and listens to the quiet outside the car as Sam goes inside to get them a room. They’re in the west end of Nebraska. Even with the car trouble, they made decent time on the roads. Simple empty highways cutting through fields, there’s nothing like them. Dean had hopped off the main road a few times to skirt around some heavy traffic spots but other than that it had been smooth sailing. Their current stopping point just happens to look like every midwestern state in the country, but Dean doesn’t mind. They’re not in this for the scenery, and the freedom of it all makes up for it.

There’s something familiar and comfortable about the red and blue neon lights that were as close to home as they used to get aside from Bobby’s and eventually the bunker. Even now there’s something calming about the way they reflect off Baby’s shiny black exterior.

“Palm Motel” is what Dean reads upside down on the reflection. There’s even a little palm tree light up icon to go along with it. Palm trees in the middle of Nebraska.

There’s no way Chuck could have written that one single detail down. That’s people. Good old fashioned free will and creativity.

There’s something in that which Dean finds comforting too.

* * *

Half an hour after they shut the lights off, Dean finally hears Sam’s breathing drop into a normal sleep pattern. As quietly as he can he grabs his phone from the nightstand and decides to do some googling of his own. The meteor shower does sound pretty cool, and it’s been a while since they’ve done anything not apocalypse related. And considering this is as close as they’ll get to a pseudo-vacation any time soon, why not now?

He checks a few websites, images, and then some maps for good measure. Finally, he finds a spot that may work. A few hours out of the way, sure, but they can take the I-90 almost all the way up, which Dean is more than comfortable with and can definitely shave off some time on. Plus, it’s not like they’re on a real time crunch, and they’ll have to take enough breaks as is to deal with whatever supposedly ‘normal’ life decides to throw at them.

The trouble will just be making sure their luck lets them get there. It would be unlucky, even for Chuck’s level of messing with them, for a meteor to completely divert path into them, so at least on those grounds they’ll be no more screwed.

Dean turns off his phone and smirks to himself in the darkness. Contemplating God throwing a meteor at them. Five years ago Dean wouldn’t believe the current one, that’s for sure.

Set in his plan, Dean closes his eyes and listens to Sam breathing a few feet away until he too falls asleep.

* * *

Sam’s alarm is what wakes them up in the morning.

“Dude shut it off or I’m throwin’ a pillow at you,” Dean mutters, his face still smashed into his own pillow. It’s a few seconds before the blaring blessedly stops. Still, they got to sleep in, which Dean should be grateful for.

They had agreed on the drive over to not take any additional risks where their luck could somehow go bad. That was including but not limited to: no morning runs for Sam, no crazy unhealthy or cheesy foods for Dean, no driving while even slightly intoxicated, no bars period aside from their end goal, no traipsing through the obviously bad parts of town, situations like that. The rules would feel more oppressive if they hadn’t agreed upon putting them in place in hopes of staying alive long enough to actually make it to the supposedly magic pool hall.

Sam is still way too chipper in the mornings for Dean’s taste, but thankfully goes out to get breakfast so Dean can take a shower. It’s not late in the morning, they do still want to get a jump on the drive, which Dean has plotted out for about five hours not including whatever gets thrown their way. He would go so far as to plan out eight or ten hour drives, but with their luck, it’s better to see how far they can get and then decide if they want to push further.

“Driving through your favorite part of the country today,” Dean says sarcastically around a bite of breakfast sandwich Sam grabbed on his run out.

Sam looks knowingly up from his cup of coffee and laptop on the counter. “Wyoming?”

“Yep,” Dean pops the ‘p’. “Rural Wyoming. Nothing but miles of flat ground and straight highway.”

Sam lets out a breathy laugh. Sure, there’s not much to look at, but at least it’s peaceful. It’s how they both prefer it, actually. “Rural Wyoming or the Vegas Strip?” Sam shoots back at his brother.

“In terms of driving or extracurriculars?”

Dean smirks at the eye roll Sam gives him in reply. “Wyoming hands down. You think Baby’s meant to sit in traffic? Now granted,” he pauses, imagining it, “those neon lights would look pretty sweet reflected off the hood. But nah. She’s happiest when she’s flying down the open road.” He extends his free hand out in front of him for emphasis and takes another bite of the sandwich.

“You two have a lot in common,” Sam parries back and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Simple pleasures, Sammy. Like this, this right here,” he points to the sandwich before he finishes it off and sighs in content. “Simple pleasures.”

They pack up the room and are back on the road before nine.

This time their luck isn’t in the form of Baby giving out, but in a collision that closes both lanes of the highway on their side. They sit for two hours, windows down, Baby shut off and still beneath them, before people miles up the road get the wreck cleared.

The rest of the drive passes uneventfully, which they’re both grateful for. After a stop for food and another for gas, almost nine hours have gone by. The sun doesn’t set until late, but they’re both growing weary and don’t want to risk Dean getting sleepy behind the wheel.

Still in middle of nowhere rural Wyoming, Dean pulls off the main highway to a side road and parks the Impala a little ways off, behind some trees where a small hill seems to have sprung up from the flat ground. It’s as close as they’ll get to protection, anyways.

Sam clicks through things on his laptop while Dean thumbs through one of the few books they brought with them to kill some of the downtime. They don’t need to talk to fill the silence, it’s comfortable just as it is. They call it a ‘night’ when the sun starts to set against the flat horizon.

“What kind do you want?” Sam asks from inside the car while Dean grabs a blanket from the trunk. Yes, they did pack a blanket for emergencies, just in case. Covering their bases and all that.

“Anything with meat,” Dean answers, and can hear Sam’s joking scoff from inside.

Dean unfolds the blanket and sets it next to the car so they can lean up against it. It’s like a picnic of sorts, decent weather, silent atmosphere. When Sam brings over the sandwiches and two bottles of beer (Dean isn’t doing any more driving tonight so they get a pass) from the cooler, it’s perfect.

“You think it’ll work? Getting our luck back like this?” Dean asks around a mouthful of sandwich a few minutes later. Sam’s still staring at the horizon. They can hear trucks making their way past on the interstate, but the cars are too small to make enough noise for them to hear from their place off the road.

Sam seems to think on it for a moment, really think, before he shrugs. “Even if it doesn’t, we’re no better off if we don’t try.”

Dean definitely can’t disagree with that. “I mean, with all the things we know are out there, all I’m saying, a lucky pool hall ain’t the strangest thing around. Maybe there’s some real mojo to it.”

“Maybe.” It’s clipped, not entirely believing or hopeful, and definitely not said in the optimistic tone Dean’s come to expect from his little brother in situations like this.

“Don’t get your hopes up too high there, Sammy,” Dean replies sarcastically and takes another bite.

Now that gets some response out of Sam. “That’s all we’re going on, again, is hope. There’s no mention _anywhere_ of a place like this, and we just happen to learn about it right when we need it? When we’re supposed to have no luck at all? This could be a…a set up by Chuck for all we know-“

“Hey, he blipped out, finished his time with us, left us like this, I doubt he’s really hanging around.”

“But we don’t know that for sure. And running just on hope for something this big…” Sam scrubs his free hand over his face. “If it doesn’t work, things end bad, not just for us.” There’s something heavier there too that Dean doesn’t quite understand, but gets the general gist of.

“Hope’s kinda the whole point, right?” A decade ago, a lifetime ago, it had been true for Sam, and had motivated him ever since. Dean knows his brother is down. He can feel it just by looking at him. But having Sam, the optimist, the hope-chaser, doubting a possible solution just speaks to how into his head Chuck got. And it worries Dean to no end that Sam still hasn’t really talked about it aside from apologizing for what happened.

Sam only nods and takes a bite of his sandwich and returns his gaze to where the sky is starting to be painted pink.

* * *

It’s not exactly comfortable sleeping in the Impala, but it’s safe and it’s home, so it’s more than enough after all these years. Sam sleeps in the back and Dean the front, as always, curling their long limbs onto the bench seats that have seen them grow, break, and heal throughout the decades.

Dean finds it surprisingly easy to fall asleep, given everything going on. The lull of distant traffic and silence except for a few bugs work almost as well as any knockout drug. At least, he’s asleep until the car starts shaking.

In the back of his mind he wonders if it’s an earthquake, then jerks awake because _holy crap_ an earthquake, until he’s fully conscious and remembers they’re in Wyoming, which isn’t known for large magnitude quakes. The shaking isn’t coming from the ground moving the car, but rather from something moving inside the car.

That leaves really only one other option and when Dean’s eyes adjust to the darkness around him, he notices that Sam is the cause. His brother is shaking in his sleep. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to rouse a seasoned hunter and set off some big-brother alarms, so Dean isn’t surprised that it woke him up. Sam’s eyes are screwed shut and when Dean adjusts his position to get a better view he can see that his brother’s hands are also clenched.

It’s obviously a nightmare. He knows Sam still has them because he himself still has them. But with them in separate rooms, he knows less about them these days than he used to. For a moment he debates letting Sam ride it out, but then he remembers everything that’s just gone on with Chuck and decides against it.

He sits up fully in the seat and scoots closer to the middle, folding his legs as he does so. Once he’s within reach he gently shakes Sam’s shoulder.

“Sammy,” he tries, quietly at first but then louder. Whatever’s in his brother’s head has its hooks in deep, which is just another worrying thing. “Hey, man, c’mon.” Dean goes from shaking to grasping Sam’s shoulder. He clamps down a little, not worrying about hurting him as the bullet wound that pained Sam for weeks has been gone ever since Chuck vanished, taking Sam’s hope with him.

The harsher contact finally rouses his little brother and Sam jerks awake, eyes wild and body tense. That doesn’t get any better when he rests his gaze on Dean, who draws his hand away slowly and raises his hands in a defenseless gesture.

“Just me, Sam, we’re in the car in Wyoming,” he reminds, trying to be as soothing as possible. He has no idea what time it is, but it’s definitely pretty late at night given there’s no sign of sunshine anywhere.

Sam’s chest keeps heaving and Dean gives him his space before saying anything else. His brother’s eyes search his and Dean slowly lowers his hands. After nearly a minute Sam seems to have his reflexes under control and sinks back against the car door, looking bone-weary.

“Same Chuck-fueled nightmares?” Dean eventually starts. It’s his best guess, anyways.

Sam only purses his lips and nods.

“I thought those would’ve stopped now that the connection’s gone.” It’s half a question, half a statement, and Sam just shrugs.

“It’s not new. Just…more of the same.”

More of them killing each other, one way or another. Dean never did get specifics, the haunted look in Sam’s eyes had been enough at the time. Now, he’s wishing they had dealt with the situation more head on before it had gotten this bad.

“You wanna talk about it?” Dean leaves the question open. They’re way past chick-flick territory. Sam’s always been the talker, and after what he’s just been through, Dean’s not about to call him out on it if he needs to get something off his chest. Dean remains still in his seat as he waits for a reply.

Sam watches the window more than he does Dean. They can barely pick out pinpricks of light on the highway as cars and trucks drive by every so often. They’re nothing compared to the stars that must be overhead, though, this far from any type of major city.

“Some alternate version of me snapped your neck, what’s there to talk about?” Is what finally comes out. It’s choked, and Dean knows Sam had to work up a lot of effort to force the painful words from his mouth. He’s not sure if it’s a positive sign or not that Sam’s giving him something to work with here, especially considering he won’t meet Dean’s eyes.

“Probably a lot, given everything that’s been goin’ on.”

Sam’s jaw works silently as he watches the lights pass by. “Even if we kill him, it doesn’t end well. For anyone.”

“That what he showed you? To force you to, you know,” Dean makes a light gesture with his hand. He won’t say, can’t say, that Sam’s lost hope, because he refuses to believe that his brother has. It’s the fuel that Sam runs on and has for a long time.

They’ve been going back and forth a lot recently. They trade the apathy and hopelessness between them like a grenade. When it gets too much, it explodes, but the other is always there to help them through it. Always. After all, some existential hiccups are to be expected when the latest big bad of the year turns out to be God, your very own personal puppet master. Eventually they’ll level out and plug along, business as usual. How long that will take, Dean has no idea. It’s not like they’ve faced something this earth shattering before.

But they’ve faced a lot in their time on this planet and off it, and all that has prepared them in some degree to deal with the current situation.

Sam nods again, and Dean doesn’t ask for specifics. Those will come later. Now is the time for talking Sam off the emotional ledge these nightmares have put him on. “See, the problem is, Chuck showed you that.”

Sam finally looks at him, a bit quizzically, and Dean swears he can see tears glistening in the darkness. He lets Dean continue. “He’s a meddler. He can show you anything he wants, true or not, to nudge you down some path you’re supposed to be on. He’s not someone you can take at his word, Sam.”

“Felt real enough. Seemed real enough,” Sam shakes his head in response and looks back out the window.

“I’m not saying it didn’t. I’m saying…we’re the professionals at finding another way through everything. There’s no reason why we can’t this time.”

And Sam, damn his overactive brain, is still thinking. “Every other universe ends with the same climax. This one had me hopped up on demon blood, murdering everyone that came to stop me. You tried to stop me. You _begged_ and I still,” he trails off. “No questions, no remorse. Who’s to say that didn’t really happen in another world? Or that it won’t eventually happen here?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean stops that train from derailing any further with a few calming words. He inches closer on the seat and looks across to his little brother in the back. “It won’t.”

“You can’t be sure, Dean, not with everything that’s-“

“It. Won’t,” Dean annunciates. “You know how I know?” Sam shakes his head and Dean points his finger to him and then himself. “You and me, come whatever, that’s how. You remember, back after Lucifer got busted out, we separated, and I called to let you back in?”

It’s the summary of the summary, but there’s no blame there, not anymore, and they both know it.

He waits for Sam to nod before he continues. “Zachariah, he tried the same thing. Showed me a future where you let Lucifer in, decimated the planet, snapped my neck like it was nothing.” Sam winces at that, and Dean tries to get to the point. “Lucifer said it would happen the exact same way, in Detroit. And it almost did. But it didn’t. Because you,” he lightly pokes Sam’s shoulder at that, “got a handle on the devil. I don’t know how, selfishly guessing it had something to do with me,” he smirks there, and Sam lets out a small breath of agreement. “And we changed the ending. You did, Sam. Lucifer, Michael, the apocalypse, we said screw destiny and God’s plan and whatever else they had set up for us. And we’ve done it since.”

Sam’s head dips to look at his legs stretched out in front of him. Dean doesn’t see the tears drip from his eyes, but when he moves his hand from Sam’s shoulder to raise his chin, he can see the tracks on his cheeks.

“I know it’s hard, and it sucks, but I need you to believe me that we’ll do it again this time. We’ve got a decade more experience, friends on our side, a home to go back to. We’ll do it, Sammy, I’ve got to believe that, and you have to as well. Maybe not today, but eventually. The only way we’ll send him packing is together.”

Sam hasn’t moved from Dean’s grasp, and Dean can see the cogs whirring in his mind, trying to latch onto some of what Dean’s said and find the light in it.

“Bad luck or not. I mean, me fixing the car. Your knack for research. My memory foam mattress, your…I don’t know, fancy shampoo,” Dean gets a small smile out of Sam for that one, which is a victory in itself. “No way he could create every little thing about us down to the smallest detail. We did that ourselves. So our destinies, those are on us too, alright?”

Sam eventually raises a hand to wipe the tears and clears his throat. “Yeah,” is all he says. It’s not completely committed, but it’s still an affirmation, and that Dean can work with.

For now though, his little brother looks spent, but also not too keen on sleeping any more even though he could definitely use it. Making sure he’s not about to fall apart first, Dean then checks the time on his phone. It’s almost five in the morning, so they got some decent sleep at least.

“What do you say we get an early jump on things, hm?”

Sam nods, sniffs, and goes about untangling himself from the back seat. Dean scoots the rest of the way over in the front bench so that he’s sitting behind the wheel. The back door opens, closes, and soon Sam’s sitting in the front next to him. Maybe he’s a bit closer than normal but it’s definitely not something Dean is about to remark on.

He does, however, shrug out of his jacket, which Sam gives him a weird look for.

“Your neck gets cramped against the door without a pillow and you know it,” Dean explains as he balls up the jacket and hands it over as a peace offering. As a reminder that he’s still here, and always will be. Sam, of course, sees it as both the physical and emotional offering that it is and takes it without further complaint.

Dean turns the key in the ignition and Baby hums to life beneath them, a roar against the silence that has so long surrounded her. He pulls a new tape from the deck, a set of soft rock songs that are sure to put Sam at ease, and switches out the Zeppelin track.

Once the music gets going, he turns the headlights on, and directs them back to the road and eventually the highway.

Sam, having taken the bundled jacket, leans up against the side of the car. He watches the scenery and stars pass by for nearly twenty minutes and sneaks glances at Dean all the while. Dean keeps his focus distinctly on the road, but taps along to the beat of the song and hums under his breath.

It’s the most comforting lullaby he knows for his overgrown little brother.

It’s almost five thirty when out of the corner of his eye Dean notices Sam relax more into the seat, and in a few more minutes he’s out. Dean just finds himself hoping that with the music and the rumble of the car, the nightmares will stay the hell away for a little while.

* * *

Dean keeps driving as the sun goes up and crests overhead. Thankfully, Sam gets a few more hours of sleep until they stop at a diner for a late breakfast.

A probably late-twenties brunette takes their orders and smiles the whole way through, mostly at Dean. Sam smirks at him after and Dean lightly kicks his shin under the table. Once upon a time, maybe, if he were a decade younger and had a thousand less nightmares and problems to deal with.

Dean clears his throat and takes a sip of his coffee. “I figure we cross into Montana today, head up the rest of the states tomorrow, bust into Canada the day after.”

Sam just nods along. “‘Bust into’, what are we breaking in?”

“I mean, kinda? Not one hundred percent totally legal, I figure that counts.”

“Mhm, yeah sure, flair for the dramatic phrasing maybe?” That little, knowing smirk is back, the one Sam puts on when he’s trying a little too hard to push Dean’s buttons in their bantering. And given the night they had, Dean’s keen on letting it slide.

“Considering we’ve only been there, what, once? Uncharted territory, man.”

“Twice,” Sam corrects after thinking about it for a moment.

Dean opens his mouth and closes it, confused. Once for Asa’s funeral a few years ago, that’s the only time they’d gone that far north to deal with anything. Unless…”Dude you’re counting the-“ he cuts himself off as the waitress drops off their plates with another smile, “-freaking alternate television universe?”

“What and you’re not?” Sam looks genuinely confused by that as he reaches for a packet of jam. He actually got breakfast food today, eggs and toast, which Dean finds himself happy about.

Dean squirts some ketchup next to his hash browns. “Hell no!”

“And why not?” his brother continues, clearly amused by Dean trying to figure out some reasoning.

“We didn’t choose to travel there, for one. We got zapped there. And, oh yeah, _we,_ ” he points between them, “don’t technically exist there. I’d say that’s enough reasons.” Dean scoops up a forkful of potatoes and sausage to avoid answering any more of Sam’s stupid reasoning questions.

“Sure, fine,” Sam shrugs. “But you and I both know we were there, so that counts for something.”

“Oh for the love of,” Dean mutters, mouth half full. “Would ya just eat? It’s early, I don’t need a headache from all this alternate universe us not us actor stuff thinking from a decade ago.”

Sam’s smirk widens before he takes a bite of his toast. “You want me to drive at all?” He’s honestly offering, Dean can tell, but he shakes his head.

“Nah, with our luck, better not risk it.”

“If you’re tired, we’re still risking something.”

“Better risking me tired, which Baby has experience with, than you constantly riding her brakes everywhere.” Dean holds up a finger to stop Sam from protesting. Ha, got him. Who’s smirking now? “Besides, it’s all pretty open roads and I know a few shortcuts, it’s no problem. If I need a break, really need, I’ll let you know.”

Sam gestures at him with his fork. “I’m holding you to that.”

“Eat your food,” Dean reminds back.

They don’t spend much longer doing just that, and leave a decent tip for the waitress on their way out. They’ve still got enough food in the car for snacks and some form of dinner, after all. If there’s one thing they know how to do, it’s stretch both food and money when needed. This is definitely one of those times.

The highway, thankfully, is fairly open when they get going. One of Dean’s favorite tapes suddenly stops working, which has him cursing the universe for a few miles. But at the end of the day he’ll take a busted tape or two over bad spark plugs, a flat tire, or a hailstorm, so he eventually shuts up about it.

The first station they stop at for gas doesn’t have any working pumps, and at the second station the nozzle decides to turn off every five seconds. Dean puts it in, takes it out, lets the fumes clear, and puts it back in again only for it to shut off when it thinks the tank is full.

When he finally gets back into the car, Sam asks him how his battle with the gas nozzle went, and Dean flips him off as he pulls out of the station.

They stop around Billings hours later when it’s getting dark, and Dean decides to pull into a motel. It’s not the nicest by far, but for a night it’ll do. He’s just hoping it goes better than the previous night.

Sam takes the first shower, leaving the door unlocked in case anything should happen. It gives Dean time to do his own research, checking the weather for Flathead Lake in the coming days. Maybe, just maybe, he can pull it off.

When Sam gets done they swap, and when Dean comes out, Sam has on one of the _Star Wars_ , probably getting people hyped up for the new movie.

“Which one is it?” Dean asks, and without really thinking, deposits himself on the other side of Sam’s bed. It is closer to the TV, after all, and if there are some other motives there too, say guarding his brother from nightmares, he doesn’t make them known.

“ _Attack of the Clones,”_ Sam says. His voice is stifled with a yawn and Dean can tell that the few hours of sleep in the car helped, but not nearly enough.

Dean shrugs and gets up for a minute to turn off the rest of the room lights. He leaves the bathroom one on and cracks the door. “Not the best, not the worst, I can live with it.” He gets back into his position on Sam’s bed. He half waits for a complaint or a shrug off that everything’s fine, but neither comes.

Sam simply makes himself comfortable and throws the remote into the middle of the bed. Dean does the same and crosses his arms over his chest while he watches the big arena battle start to take shape.

Sam lasts through two commercial breaks before his head falls to the side. Dean lets the movie play on lower volume for another two breaks, until the movie is almost done, just to be safe. When he turns off the television, the room is quiet.

By some miracle, it stays that way the rest of the night.

* * *

They don’t talk about it in the morning. It’s on par for their whole history, really. As they move through their morning routine, Dean doesn’t see any signals that Sam had another bad night that may need a heart to heart to diffuse. He’s grateful for both their sakes, but mostly for Sam’s. His brother looks a little better rested and his eyes aren’t quite as shadowed. Dean will take whatever wins they can get.

Still saving on money, Sam grabs a granola bar from their stash of rations in the trunk and tosses one to Dean. He catches it easily and appraises it before he gets in the driver’s side. “Dude,” is all he says. Not annoyed, but surprised in all honesty.

Sam grins over at him, his own completely healthy granola bar already half gone. “Thought you’d appreciate a mint chocolate one more than a plain, healthy one.”

“You damn well thought correct,” Dean nods and rips open the package. It’s obviously not his go-to for breakfast, but at least Sam picked out something decent. He eats with one hand holding the granola bar and the other on the wheel.

Five minutes later the town is a spot in the rearview mirror and there are two wrappers sitting in a plastic to-go bag in the back seat.

They make another stop on the side of the road hours later for Dean to pour in more coolant and screw the cap back on. The car wasn’t supposed to be running low, but apparently bad luck means coolant disappearing out of nowhere. With God literally against them, Dean figures it’s something within His realm of power to do.

The drive is only a few hundred miles, so Dean makes sure to pull off at a decent place for lunch so they can kill some more time. Sam knows better than to question driving decisions, but he’s trying to avoid suspicion as to why the drive today is so short until it gets later in the day.

Turns out the place he picks is known for its veggie burgers, which has Sam as borderline ecstatic as he’ll ever get. The woman serving them takes it as a huge compliment that Dean picks it over a cheeseburger (which she sees him eyeing, but unbeknownst to her he picks the veggie burger for its milder side effects during this trying time. He’d go for the cheeseburger any other day) and somewhat enjoys it once he douses it with ketchup.

They hit the diner during off hours when only two or three tables are full aside from theirs, which gives them time to relax. And it gives Dean time to get on the waitress’s good side, especially considering it’s her son in the back who makes the ‘famous’ veggie burgers. A little praise and some friendly conversation go a long way and they end up walking out of the diner with two slices of pie on the house for later.

“See? This,” Dean motions to himself as they walk back to the car, Sam carrying the food bag, “all me.”

“Yeah, your physical body, I’d hope it’s all you,” Sam smirks back.

“Obviously. But this, the smoothness. Bad luck from God can’t touch that, it’s all me.” He’s still grinning obnoxiously as they get into the car and he starts it up. “Just want you to remember that when you appreciate that pie later.”

“If you don’t steal it first.”

“If you don’t decide to give it to me as compensation for driving us all the way out here,” Dean corrects and points a finger at him. Sam just rolls his eyes and sighs good-naturedly.

As Dean drives out of the lot and points Baby back toward the highway, he has a thought. An unusually philosophical one, at that, which Sam may appreciate. Without turning his head from the road, he opens his mouth. “This too, is all us, you know?”

“I hope you realize you’re being a little ambiguous there.”

Dean waves his hand from the wheel and motions between the two of them. “This. Us. The…I don’t know, back and forth, understanding and all that, you know what I mean?” He catches Sam’s nod out of the corner of his eye. “Sure, maybe Chuck came up with some events in our lives, but my jokes and your eye rolls and all that are all on us.”

“So what you’re saying is our bickering is a positive sign of us being us?”

Dean snaps his fingers. “Exactly.” That’s when he decides to steal a glance away from the road to look at Sam. His brother has one of those wistful, thoughtful expressions on his face, like he’s really trying to take things to heart.

“That’s pretty deep of you. Should I be worried?”

Now it’s Dean’s turn for an eye roll and instead of answering he flicks on the radio to see what Montana has to offer before he goes for the tapes.

Sam gets him perfectly, and Dean knows it, and Sam knows he knows it. It’s the unspoken things, the ones nobody, not even Chuck, can put into words or actions, that define relationships. Dean finds himself lucky that most of his relationship with Sam is built on those unspoken things. They’re the stones that build the castle they created by themselves without the greatest creator of them all.

They’re what the brothers will use to defeat him in the end. And Dean knows it.

* * *

About sixty miles from their mid-route destination, Dean pulls over to fill up the tank. Sam excuses himself to use the restroom and while Dean reaches for the pump handle, he notices that clouds have formed overhead beyond the station’s metal awning. And, just their luck, they appear to be congregating towards the north, right where they’re headed.

“Freakin’ awesome,” Dean mutters to himself as he starts filling the tank.

No light pollution is great for stargazing, but that’s only half the puzzle. If they can’t actually see the sky because of the clouds, it doesn’t matter how in the middle of nowhere they may be.

After the tank is full, Dean pulls up the weather app on his phone. It still shows partly cloudy which, judging by what they’re headed into, is an outright lie. There’s no way around the clouds either, unless he takes a full detour and even then the clouds may still be over the lake, no matter what side they’re on.

By the time he checks another two websites, Dean realizes that Sam’s been gone a fair amount of time. For a split second he imagines Sam slipping on slick tile and hitting his head on a porcelain sink.

Dean quickly screws on the gas cap, pockets his phone, and heads for the bathroom.

“Sam?” he asks as soon as the door is open. Turns out he didn’t even need to ask, because Sam is right there in front of the mirror. He’s standing with one socked foot on top of his other foot trying to maintain his balance as he picks at his other shoe with some paper towels.

“Dude, you’ve been in here an eternity, what the hell happened?” Dean comes over to his brother’s side to assess the situation, and when he finds out what Sam’s picking at, he almost laughs.

“Stepped in gum,” Sam explains, exasperated as the paper towel breaks before he can get the sticky substance off. Dean rips off another one from the dispenser and hands it over.

“At least you kept your shoe on this time, eh? Small victories.” There’s a full grin on his face because this bad luck they can deal with.

The bitchface Sam shoots him does absolutely nothing to dampen Dean’s reaction. When the paper towel continues to not work, Dean wordlessly hands over his pocket knife so Sam can scrape off the offending garbage.

They’re back on the road a few minutes later and the clouds to the north have only darkened.

“You want to stop for the night before we get stuck in a storm?” Sam asks twenty miles down the road when most of the sunlight has been cut off.

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, then we’ll just be behind for tomorrow. I’ve got it, another hour and we’ll be fine.” He says it almost like a prayer because please, just this one thing for one night, and they can carry on afterwards.

He opens the window not long after and, smelling rain in the air, promptly closes it. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll work out. But they won’t know until they get there.

They continue to drop in elevation as they enter the park and by the evening, they’ve arrived.

Dean finds that spot for them to spend the night in a small camping parking lot overlooking the lake. A lot of the spots are empty, but the ones that are full have vacant cars. It’s likely that the owners brought gear and set up spots inside the park, so there’s still some modicum of privacy around.

“This is a bit different than normal,” Sam comments as he steps out of the car and stretches his back, looking out over the water as he does so.

“Figured we could use a change of scenery. And it’s on the way up, so hey, why not? Welcome to Flathead Lake, Montana.”

“Are we actually in a state park?” Ever the nerd, Sam sweeps his gaze back to the trees that surround the small dirt parking lot.

Dean jerks his hand back toward the car. “I mean we can drive up another fifty miles to find some nondescript stretch of highway to sleep next to if that’s more your style.”

“That’s not what I-“

“Yes, Sam, it’s a state park. Breathe in the…I don’t know, beauty and fresh air, alright?” He sends a knowing wink Sam’s way, still teasing. Or half teasing, because he knew Sam would appreciate the scenery. Hell, he himself is appreciating it.

The lake is massive and stretches out almost to the horizon, with darker specs where land juts in and out. There’s even a cement dock going out maybe thirty feet into the water that seems fairly stable. Dean makes note of it for later.

But the peace is nice. Even though the highways had been fairly wide open, there was always someone there. Out here, even with the cars parked nearby, it feels secluded.

The peace of the land seems to seep into their bones as they watch the sun set behind the clouds over the water from their places leaned up against Baby’s trunk. Both of them dig into their slices of pie from earlier, though Sam does have some other healthy nonsense he had packed because apparently pie by itself isn’t a good enough dinner.

Dean wholeheartedly disagrees and lets Sam know it.

A light breeze picks up as they eat, and it’s only then that Dean notices the clouds actually moving. The domineering dark shapes have become wisps in the sky when he wasn’t looking, and now appear to be dissipating entirely. Maybe it’s the elevation change, or a freak weather thing, but whatever it is, Dean will take it. If the clouds continue moving as they are, the sky should be plenty clear by nighttime.

Dean isn’t one to wholeheartedly believe in good omens, especially right now, but the clouds literally parting seems like as good a message as any.

He tries calling Cas again, but it goes straight to voicemail just like the other three hundred times he tried. Dean leaves a short, clipped voicemail saying where they are and to ‘call him back ASA-freaking-P thank you’.

When he thumbs off the call a little harder than necessary and sighs, Sam turns away from the lake to look at him.

“I’m sure he’s fine. Wrapped up in who knows what, maybe he found something. But he’d call if it was bad,” Sam tries to assure.

Dean only has it in him to nod. But it’s not like they’d be much help anyways right now, halfway across the country and with enough bad luck to get them all screwed. He just has to hope that whatever’s going on can wait until they get back to Lebanon, hopefully with their luck meters all filled up.

They make use of the park’s walking distance facilities before returning to the car for the night. Dean checks his watch before going down and sets it to wake them up in five hours for when the peak of the shower is supposed to hit. He’s too beat to stay up that long, but getting five hours of shuteye and maybe some after should do the job just fine.

He falls asleep faster than usual, probably on account of being actually tired from all the driving. The next thing he knows, his watch is beeping quietly, and it’s enough to signal his honed hunter senses and wake him up. He turns it off as quickly as he can and even though Sam isn’t fully awake, Dean can see him stirring in the car.

Dean doesn’t make any moves yet, but cranes his neck to look out the windshield. There’s no point in waking Sam up if there’s nothing going on.

The stars are out in full force, pinpricks of bright and dim light only blocked by trees in the way. There’s no trace of the threatening clouds they had seen just hours ago. He remembers the seventy five meteors per hour, which means more than one a minute. Of course, it’s not straight math when it comes to these things, but it at least means that he should see something.

It takes almost two minutes, but then a streak of white shoots across the sky and vanishes. Another follows just seconds later in the same direction. Dean can feel his own eyes widening at the sight as a smile stretches across his face.

Decision made, he gently rouses Sam by shaking his shoulder. Thankfully his brother wakes up easily and rubs a hand against his eyes before he checks his watch. “Dude,” he mutters sleepily. “What’s goin’ on?”

“You’re gonna want to see this,” is all Dean gives in explanation. Sam’s eyes widen a bit more at that and he just looks confused at seeing the smile on Dean’s face. “Come on, up and at ‘em, you’ll thank me.”

He doesn’t wait around any longer before getting out of the car. He goes around to the trunk and grabs them each an extra jacket and a blanket by the time Sam is out of the car, still trying to get fully awake. It’s chilly outside, but not so cold that they’d be risking anything major if they stayed out for an hour, even with their bad luck.

Dean tosses Sam his extra jacket and shrugs on his own, keeping the blanket in the crook of his elbow. A glance around the lot and the dock shows that no one is around, which is perfect.

He begins taking a few steps toward the dock, but stops when he doesn’t hear Sam behind him. He turns, checking to make sure everything is okay, and finds Sam with his jacket half on, staring at the sky. His mouth is open ever so slightly with a bit of wonder, and just like that Dean knows the detour was well worth it.

Dean turns his own gaze to the sky just as another meteor streaks by overhead and he smiles.

“C’mon, Sam. Gonna get a stiff neck craning it all night.” When he starts walking again, Sam follows.

The dock is sturdy dry cement and still has a bit of warmth leftover from a day in the open sun. It’s probably about eight feet across, long enough for them to get comfortable. Dean throws down the blanket and does just that.

Sam follows suit so their feet are pointed towards the car and their heads out to the lake. With their jackets on and the cement slightly warming the blanket beneath them, it’s actually not bad outside.

Dean points up when three streak right in a row, one after the other, and vanish with the other stars. Sam lets out a light laugh and nods along.

He then launches into explaining why the meteors streak in the direction they do, why the peak is tonight, and throws in pretty much every fun fact his big brain has to offer. Dean nods along, actively listening, as Sam points out some constellations, a few of which Dean taught him a lifetime ago.

They fall silent after that, taking in the peace and the way the world seems to relax around them. There’s a slight lapping of water against the dock and rustle of trees back by the car but other than that it’s completely silent. There’s no lights, no people, nothing. It’s as if this moment in time and space is carved out just for them.

Maybe if they’re quiet and still enough, they can get it to last forever.

Dean tries to keep track of how many meteors they see, but after fifty he stops counting. He’s never seen a shower of this magnitude, so it’s not like there’s a competition for first place or most impressive.

“There’s no way he can plan all these, right?”

They’ve probably been watching the shower for close to an hour and a chill is just starting to creep through Dean’s jacket. He doesn’t need to clarify what Sam’s talking about.

“Nope, no way. It’s too random, too detailed. I think the science nerds win this one.” He steals a glance at Sam next to him, who’s still watching the sky with a fond, peaceful look on his face. His shoulders are even relaxed against the blanket. It’s as if the tight spring Dean’s been riding next to for the past few days has finally started to loosen.

“So…even if he created the comet, the meteors happened all on their own.”

Dean nods slowly. The logic makes sense anyways. Chuck would be more interested in a full comet than a shower once a year, after all, and deciding at what exact millisecond to make each streak appear in the sky. “Makes sense,” he verbalizes because Sam’s still not looking at him. “You have an epiphany or something?”

The corner of Sam’s mouth quirks up. “Or something.”

It seems to be a good something, so Dean doesn’t push it. Big comet, small meteors, big intervention, smaller decisions made by things due to their own forces. It doesn’t take more than a minute for Dean to get what’s probably going through his brother’s mind. If it is what he thinks it is, then it’s definitely a good something. Dean’s perfectly content with that.

He crosses his arms over his chest to conserve a little more warmth.

Sam notices out of the corner of his eye and turns to appraise him. He doesn’t look cold, but then again, his giant body always seems to run hot. “Would you mind if we stayed out a little longer?”

Dean shakes his head and smiles at him. “Not at all, Sammy.”

“Thanks,” Sam whispers back and turns his head to the stars, the weight of the simple word settling over them both.

Dean, too, turns to catch two more stars falling in succession. He wondered for a second when driving if it would look like when the angels fell. But it doesn’t, not at all, and he’s grateful for it.

The tired drive in the morning, too, he’ll be grateful for. Because it means that this was a good idea, that this helped in some degree when almost nothing else would.

So Dean settles himself against the dock and lets out a long sigh.

Tomorrow they’ll continue the drive north. In the next few days they’ll hit Alaska. For now, that’s all he can say for sure beyond what he hopes will come of everything.

For now, he watches the meteors make lines across a peaceful sky and listens to his brother breathe next to him.


End file.
